The King's Privateer
by PhilosopherCat
Summary: The sea is Jack Sparrow's classroom, loyalty and how far he would go for it will determine if he will live out his destiny. Bill Turner and midshipman Norrington will be brought into his life at in inopportune moment. In the end the Pearl will be his.
1. Prologue

*** Disclaimer: I don't own PotC. In fact, all I own are three ticket stubs from the show and the memories ;-)! This is an idea that came to me, that isn't fully developed yet so it may involve a lot of surprises along the way. I'm already working on chapter one, by the way.   
  
Ps. Sorry about the ship, you'll see. I couldn't resist. *smacks self* No silliness!***  
  
Prologue: The First Day  
  
His eyes were darker than the darkness he saw as his limbs grew slack from exhaustion. The waves around and beneath him surged, and exhaled his wet body onto the shore, and pulled it back again. His fingers having touched the sand, he gasped for breath and threw his face up and out of the darkness, into the twilight. One last pulse and, this time, he rolled himself into the soft sand, and this time the water didn't reach for him. He sunk into the beach, the translucent veil of his white shirt was littered with grains of the shore sand. He knew he breathed, that he lived, but little more. The dark eyes saw the hazy brilliance of the moon above, and he closed his weary eyes and slept awhile.  
  
The sun had replaced the moon in the high place of the sky when Jack Sparrow woke up. He first felt the warmth of that sun, and smiled. It felt curiously glorious to have the sun beat down upon his nose, his cheeks, to bake him into the sand of the beach. He retrieved his hand which had wandered off and into the sand nearby. When he had left it to lay on the beach the sand had been wet, and spongy to the touch; now it enveloped him like a shell. Pressing the grit between his fingers he suddenly remembered why the sun felt so wonderful.   
  
He frowned, and slowly opened his dark eyes as he tore himself from the beach. His mouth hung open slightly as he stared at the blank surface of the sea. He aimlessly smeared the sand with his hands, as he cast his gaze up and down the shore. There was nothing but sea and sand. Behind him were trees, and what looked like a trail or perhaps even a road, although it would have to be a private one. The heart in his chest suddenly thumped against his ribs, sending his breath into spasms and puffs. He breathed deep and tried to remember what had happened to him.  
  
"Father?" he whispered to himself. "John?" He looked down at his empty hand, covered like a crab in sand. "All gone?" He shuddered, and took one more look at the mockingly placid sea, the sea which had nearly consumed him. His eyes grew sore, as he stood and walked to the brim of the sea where he could see it stretch like a girdle from east to west, unbroken. The wind rushing off of the sea echoed his aloneness, and he began to cry. He was utterly alone, utterly defenceless, completely powerless against the blue expanse and its changeability.   
  
His father's ship, The Merry Susanna, had been caught in the storm and blown into the reef offshore when the night was so beautiful that, now that the ship and its crew were gone, it hurt Jack like nothing until then had. He was a lad in love with the sea, in all of its moods. That night he had stood by the rails with his brother and dreamed about women that would have eyes like the sea. His brother, who was always the most sensible of the two young sons of James Sparrow, tried to tell Jack that he was a sentimental fool but that he loved him all the same, "Ye crazy gob!" Now Jack was all that was left of their small family, that had lived by the sea.   
  
Jack smiled at his memories, as the silent tears slid down his face. His mind, which was sharper than even he truly knew, reached deep into the memory of his brother and their talk that night. It was the last they would ever have, and it could not be lost like the ship and the lives behind the memory. More memories came to Jack of his family that were now lost to him. They were a part of what he would make of himself, now that he could no longer see them, or hear their voices and kind words.   
  
He slowly wiped the tears from his face and looked down at his bare, and battered feet. He raised his eyebrows. "Well, feet," he said. "Looks like it's you and me now." He took another look out at the sea, and said his good-byes in his heart. He turned his feet towards the trail leading into the trees and set his course for whatever may lie ahead.  
  
**** 


	2. Pointed in the right direction

***Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. There will be some original characters, especially later on and I suppose they are all that I own related to this fic ;-) Enjoy!***  
  
Chapter One.  
  
The trail went on, in its patchy way, for miles. Jack walked along for what seemed to him like hours until the trees abruptly began to thin out. Peering through the trees Jack could see that the sun had shifted slightly, but that there was plenty of daylight still to come. The sun had baked his shirt dry as it clung to him. He absent mindedly pawed at it from time to time as the sand rubbed his skin. He found a shady spot under a tree and carefully lowered himself to the ground. He picked up one of his brown feet and winced as he gently rubbed some of the sand from the blisters.  
  
"Pity," he said to himself. "And I had such lovely feet." He put his foot down and took a look around him. There was still no sign of habitation, and he was starting to worry that he may have washed up far from help, if help was to come his way. He certainly would not be able to find help in his condition. On sea Jack Sparrow couldn't be held back, not by anyone or anything. On land, however, that was a different story. "So, what's next for Jack Sparrow?" he asked himself. He grinned, looking at his tattered clothes. "I am fortune's fool!" he laughed. "Read that somewhere. Don't remember where. Seems appropriate." He looked like he had been crushed more than once under fortune's wheel.   
  
At that moment Jack heard the definite sound of someone coming through the trees up ahead. Jack scrambled to his feet, hopping on one leg as he did so. "Damn!" He just managed to angle himself behind a tree when the man became visible. He broke through the veil of the trees and stumbled into the pathway not far ahead. The man was wearing a three cornered hat, under which flowed brown curls down his neck and over his ears. Otherwise, his clothes were not that different from Jack's own. In his hand he loosely swung a half-empty bottle of rum with every step he took. The man gave a series of discrete coughs.  
  
"Twas all in the Martinmas Time when roses all were swellin', that William of the west country fell in love wi' Barbr'y Allen!" sang the man in a brisk style.   
  
"Ah, he's drunk, the ol' fool!" said Jack, losing all of his trepidation. He casually walked towards the man. "Good morning!" said Jack as calmly as he could considering he had just survived a shipwreck the previous evening. The man looked at him over his shoulder with mild surprise. Jack realised that he was staring at the man. He made an effort to smile, and look a little more relaxed. The man seemed to be more surprised that he had company, not that his company looked like a sandy scarecrow. "My name is Jack Sparrow," he said. The man smiled at Jack.  
  
"Well, Jackie, if you'd be so kind," he stomped one of his heavy feet and its boot. "I need to get me back home," He looked at Jack seriously. "An' I'm not feeling well," It was all Jack could do not to laugh. Aye, he looked less than well.   
  
"Do you need a hand, then?" offered Jack, walking over to steady the big man. He groaned, as he felt the heaviness of the man's arm on his shoulder.  
  
"Ah," laughed the man. "You're all hollow y' are!" he howled right in Jack's ear. Meanwhile he politely winced and plodded along trying not to care about the hot coals he was walking on. This would get him to civilization, or at least a reasonable substitute. "You a sailor?" said the man, as his hands rubbed against one of the places on Jack's shirt were the sand was collecting.  
  
"Aye," said Jack catching his breath long enough to reply. The man didn't seem to notice Jack's struggle to keep him upright. He merely received the information, duly stored it and nodded as though it were a profound truth. It didn't take all that long to arrive at the man's small holding by means of the old trail which led up into his property from the back. Jack stopped to rest at an old wooden fence bounding the little green acre and it's neat white clapboard house. The man trode over to the gate, while Jack panted. He lifted the creaking latch.  
  
"Shhhh!" whispered the man, looking at Jack with a wide grin. Jack didn't get the joke, but he grinned anyway. The man looked concerned, and walked over to Jack again. "Here," he said, handing him the bottle of rum. "I can't be seen with that, can I?" Jack nodded sternly. The two of them walked over to the white house. Jack's eyes lit up as he saw the whiteness of the level roadway beyond.   
  
They were soon standing near the back steps, the man giving Jack a farewell slap on his trusty back. Jack lifted his head casually, and attempted to ask the way into town. "You know, Jackie," said the man. "I tell you what I'll do. You follow this road here," he pointed along with his large finger. "Until you see a place that has a sign out front looks like a dove on a barrel. That'll be the Drunken Dove," Jack blinked.   
  
"The Drunken Dove?"  
  
"Yeah, it's the tavern. You're in luck Jackie for today there's someone there who'd be real glad to meet you. He's lookin' for sailors for the King himself!" the man laughed. "His name's Teigue McCory. He's cried the town for sailors, an' could find none. Ask for Tall Teiggy. Tell him Joseph sent ya!" Jack waved goodbye and set his much maligned feet on the white roadway. He look a quick sip of what was left in the bottle.  
  
The wind was blowing behind him, and it's coolness soothed Jack somewhat. As he walked along, he looked up at the sky, imagining beautiful dark ships sailing seas as blue. And onboard he could see the loyal men of the crew and their fearless captain. He could see the smartly dressed marine guards standing straight all in a line. His heart quickened and his mind raced. "Me? In the King's navy?" He imagined himself as the perfect midshipman. He would be so brave, so clever, so loyal. Maybe he would save the captain's life, and be brought before the King himself! He hummed as he well nigh raced along towards his new vocation, the scruffy ragamuffin. His black hair fanned his brow and a wide grin flashed on his face as he closed his eyes and imagined himself promoted to a life of honours, and wealth. The thought also didn't escape him that, as a dashing naval hero, he would be fair game for graceful young women of a sort he would never have met otherwise. And they would all think he was exceptional, and handsome, and quite clever and want him to steal their kisses like he would their hearts.   
  
He smiled to himself. He was so enraptured that he hardly noticed how long he had walked. He was already in the outskirts of the town. He looked around keenly for the sign of the Drunken Dove. Instead, his eyes caught the sight of people staring back at him. It wasn't an unusual feeling for him, but he didn't care much for it all the same. He tried, like many times before, to get used to walking on land but once again the art eluded him. He only managed not to draw too much attention to himself this time. He just couldn't get used to non-rolling surfaces like terra firma.  
  
There it was at last, the sign of The Drunken Dove. It was a large, well-painted sign and Jack nearly caught his breath when he saw it. He let himself roll along to the tavern, regardless of how it looked. He was on a course with destiny, he could feel it, and it was drawing him onward. He paused only for an instant at the threshold. He felt within him that he would never be the same once he entered under that sign. It excited and thrilled him to the core. Without another thought he briskly walked into the tavern. 


	3. The Drunken Dove

***I still don't own PotC ;-) I own Mr. McCory, The Drunken Dove, The Golden Bough, and Captain Hawthorne when I create him ;-) As far as I know, 'Teigue' is pronounced "TEE-g" but it's modern version, which is a slur for 'Irish Catholic' (because in PotC time England was taking over Ireland, and there were a lot of Teigues, so the name stuck) is pronounced 'TAY-g'. Ah well. He's called 'Tom' most of the time so you don't need to worry ;-)  
  
lem68: I'm so glad that you are enjoying my story! I don't really know which is my favourite. But some of my favourites are OOC, and Rum and Tears. If you look at my profile, there's a lot more but I think those are probably the ones that stand out in my mind right now.  
  
***  
  
It was a neat neighbourhood pub, rather than a tavern. It had long, leaded glass panes along the walls bathing the inside with daylight. Jack's eyes immediately picked out a smartly dressed man sitting at a nearby table with several other men. He ran a hand through his hair and began to walk over to them. He had only taken two or three steps when they, in a body, turned and looked at him. He stopped; their gaze fell on him like a cold shower. The corners of their mouths rose into grins and they continued ignoring him. Jack was mortified; yet he took another step towards them, and they stared at him again, this time less intensely. The smartly dressed man put down his drink, smoothed his neat moustache and peered over his nose at Jack.  
  
"Is there something you want, boy?" he asked with feigned gentility. Jack set his head up and looked the man in the eye.  
  
"I'm looking for a Mr. McCory," he said. The man's friends began to laugh even before he had turned to look at them. He resumed ignoring Jack. Jack looked around him, not knowing what was going on until he saw a dark haired man on the other side of the room motion to him. He took one more look at the high-spirited group and walked as straight as he could over to the other table in the corner.   
  
"I hear you're lookin' for McCory," said the man as Jack stood beside his table. Not waiting for Jack to respond, he smiled and held his hand out in front of an empty chair. "I'm the only McCory 'round here, far as I know." Jack eagerly sat down, and returned the man's grin. Mr. McCory was around the same height as Jack, with black hair and blue eyes that always seemed to be amused by something, even though there was a grave look about him otherwise. Jack saw in his face that he had known the sea longer than Jack, although how much longer was hard to tell.  
  
"A man named Joseph sent me," said Jack. "He said that you were looking for sailors." Mr. McCory frowned as he looked at Jack. He slowly reached out his hand and felt the sand blasted linen clinging to Jack's shoulder and seemed disturbed by it. He looked at Jack again.  
  
"Aye, I've been crying the town for sailors for the past few days while the ship's moored in the bay," he motioned beyond to the water hid behind the town itself but Jack still followed the sailor's finger outwards. "I haven't found any takers," he laughed softly. "Now you tell me your story and then we can see if I'll be offering you a position," Mr. McCory leaned back in his chair. "First, let's have your name."  
  
"My name is Jack Sparrow," the man nodded keenly.  
  
"And how did you get here, Mr. Sparrow?"  
  
"My father's ship was wreaked last night," said Jack looking down for a moment. "I awoke this morning on the beach. Managed to meet a mister... uhm.... a man named Joseph," Mr. McCory nodded. "And he told me that I'd do well to seek you out here."  
  
"That's hard luck, lad," said McCory, rubbing his chin. He paused. "You haven't been put off of the sea, I take it?"  
  
"It's not in me for that," said Jack seriously. The man eyed him carefully.  
  
"So, you're not afraid of it then?" he asked as he looked just past Jack for a moment before resting his eyes on his once more. "Are you not afraid of the sea, lad?" Jack said nothing, because he knew that the man had his answer already. His blue eyes sparkled and he withdrew. "And you feel yourself an able seaman, Mr. Sparrow?"   
  
"I am able, sir," said Jack not without some fierceness. He tried to subdue it somewhat but he had always been passionate.  
  
"I'll be needing able backs, willing hands, level heads and loyal hearts. Are you the man I'm lookin' for, Jackie Sparrow?" Mr. McCory smiled even broader as he saw the look on Jack's face. "Aye, you miserable cur," he said. "I'll take ye as y' are, and we'll probably make something of you in time." Jack sighed with relief, as Mr. McCory signalled to the bar. A glass of water was brought over for Jack. He eagerly drank as Mr. McCory once again ran his eyes over his new crew mate.  
  
"My Christian name's Teigue," said Mr. McCory. "You can call me Teigue if you like, or Thomas if ye prefer. Some blokes onboard call me Tall Teigue which I don't mind; everyone sort of acquires new names in this enterprise," he smiled to himself. "You'll have one as well, in time." Jack was too exhausted to speak. Now that he had come all this way, and obtained what could be the first step towards what he had always desired he suddenly felt all of the pain, and emotional weariness which he had temporarily shut out. He just listened.  
  
"The ship is called The Golden Bough," continued Tom. "And her captain's Henry Hawthorne." Jack looked surprised for a moment, Tom saw the fleeting look. "No, I'm not the captain. I'm not even first mate. I'm a crewman, same as you. I volunteered to go ashore to fill up the crew for the captain. I take it you don't have anywhere to go," he rubbed his chin once more. "I don't see why I can't bring you onboard straight away."  
  
Jack stared at Mr. McCory, his dark eyes filling with a strange light. He smiled. "So, Teigue," he said. "That's all? I just go onboard, and I'll have a uniform and all?" Mr. McCory frowned, and put both hands on the table. Jack's smile faded an inch.  
  
"Jackie," he said slowly. "You're after thinkin' I'm with the navy?" Jack suddenly felt cold rush through him and he opened his mouth but couldn't get it to reply. "No, we're not with His Majesty's." He felt sorry for disappointing Jack, so he cut short his explanation. "We serve the King, to be sure, but we're his loyal privateers not his regular navy." There was a pause in which Mr. McCory expected Jack to either leave, or stay and Jack stayed but said nothing. Suddenly Tom knew what the trouble was.  
  
"D'ye not know what a privateer is?" he ventured to the wide-eyed Jack.  
  
"I don't sir," admitted Jack who was somewhere between hopes. Mr. McCory ran a weary hand over his face and seemed likewise conflicted. He once again abbreviated.  
  
"We are legal pirates," he said. Jack's eyes widened further for an instant before he relaxed as he was finally catching on. "The King sends a letter of marque which authorises sailors to pirate ships of other countries. The letter saves them from the law, at least the King's law." Jack looked suspiciously over at Mr. McCory who continued. "It's a dangerous game, Mr. Sparrow. I don't want ye if I can't trust that you're really for it all. I know you were thinkin' of the blue backs but we ain't them."   
  
He paused, trying to read Jack's face which, at this moment, hid the thoughts behind it like a mask. He was somewhat surprised by the cold look in the young man's eye, the determined line his mouth had drawn across his rather fresh and impish face. What was it lurking in the depths of that dark eye, like a creature barely seen, beautiful and terrible at once? Was it disgust? Could it be fear? He didn't know, and never could say what he had seen there. There was a man behind the eyes now were there had only been a lad before. He suddenly discerned an urgency as he felt the flash of the young man's eye.  
  
"We're just as loyal to our King," he said nearly unawares. He was searching for a way to reach this raw castaway. "Only we work covertly," he explained. "And get some bonuses."  
  
"You mean, treasure?" said Jack coldly. "Booty, I'd imagine?" The older man nodded, and added a curt 'aye'. Jack looked thoughtfully at his hands and the tatters of his shirt. So, this wasn't his dream coming to fruition, as he had thought. He had never heard of privateering, and the idea that it was piracy, albeit legal piracy, didn't make the prospect very appealing.   
  
Mr. McCory saw the concern and disappointment on Jack's face and looked at him sympathetically. "Look," he said. "You don't need to decide right now," Jack looked over at him once more. "I'll take you to the captain, you can have something to eat, and a place to stay the night at least. And I promise we won't steal ya," he added with a grin.  
  
Jack smiled back and the two of them laughed softly. In the brief pause between the two men a hundred things passed through Jack's mind. There was his desperate present needs first of food and shelter. Then, from the darkest depths of Jack Sparrow, came a calling which he had never felt before. Even earlier, when he had raced to the pub to meet his destiny, he hadn't felt this grave and insistent tug from within. He had to resist the urge to touch his breast, to feel the tug with his finger tips, so strong and real was the feeling that this was not disappointment. It was, certainly, neither postponement and that is what intrigued him.   
  
"Alright, Tom," said Jack. "I'll consider your... proposal." A sly grin spread across his face, and this time he smiled with his eyes. "Consider it only, savvy?" The other man returned the smile.   
  
"Aye, Mr. Sparrow," said Tom. Jack placed his hands upon the table, now looking exceedingly poised for a castaway.   
  
"Call me Jack," he smirked. 


	4. Onboard The Golden Bough

***Disclaimer: I don't own PotC. I only own the plot of this fic (in other words, you had better not plagiarize... how sad do you have to *be* to plagiarize fanfiction?? But, it is happening...) Let's see... I own The Golden Bough (the ship... not the book ;-) , Mr. McCory, Mr. Powell, Mr. Corcoran, and Captain Hawthorne. This weekend, or at least sometime in the near future I shall be revising all chapters before I move on since these first ones have been drafts and I'm not entirely pleased with them. I can't say how much will be altered until I get a good look at it all, as it were. Probably, Jack's brother will be renamed since it does bother me that it might be another name for 'Jack' back then... and the ship will be renamed as well. That's for sure, but plot wise I only know that some things will change. I'll let you know when I have done this, in case you would like to read the 'alternate' version. Hopefully this second attempt will be closer to what I had intended.  
  
-Sophie  
  
Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl: Thank you for the hearty praise! Here, promptly, is another chapter. Hope you like!  
  
Endril McMerlin: This Jack Sparrow is pretty slippery ain't he? Hmm... I'm letting my muse tell me what to do with him at this point ;-) What was Jack like before he became distrustful? I just love writing for him since there are so many facets to play with! Eeeee!   
  
ps. Viva la NDL! Viva! ;-)  
  
"Well, Jackie there she is." Mr. McCory and Jack were striding alongside a sleek ship resting calmly in the water. Her hull was painted a shiny blue-black and the words 'The Golden Bough' were placed along the prow in carved wood painted white. Jack took one look at the ship and walked past the prow after Mr. McCory. The pair had already drawn the attention of a grey haired man onboard, with squinty eyes and a wry grin.  
  
"Ol' Tom, what's that you've got there?" he said as he leaned back, hand on the rail and a hand on his pipe. "Shall I be gettin' the captain?"  
  
"You'll be gettin' the captain," nodded Mr. McCory. "He'll be wantin' to see young Master Sparrow." Jack followed Mr. McCory up the gangplank as the other man flicked his eyebrow and said something to another man nearby who took an instant to look at the newcomer before striding below deck. The two men walked onto the deck and the other man stood before them and tapped his hat.  
  
"Welcome back Tom," he said.   
  
"This is our Jack Sparrow," said Mr. Mc Cory. "Now, he's not here to stay. That'll be up to him."   
  
"Bloody well won't!" scoffed the older man. Jack frowned and stared at him. "That'll be up to the captain!" Mr. Mc Cory laughed softly.  
  
"No, Mr. Powell, he's not sure 'bout join' the crew," Mr. Powell glared at Jack as he puffed on his pipe.  
  
"What the hell is he here for, then? A pleasure cruise?" the older man tried to walk over to Jack, to press against him but Mr. Mc Cory slipped his hand between them and calmly drew him aside. Mr. Powell huffed and blew his smoke in the air. Jack raised his hand for a moment to wave it away. Mr. Mc Cory shot him a warning glance but it was too late. Mr. Powell took several short, elegant puffs on his pipe and blew the smoke in Jack's face. This time Jack merely closed his eyes and held his breath.   
  
"Aye," said Mr. Powell. "If ye don't like it ye can clear off!" he waved his arm and began to walk away.  
  
"He's a castaway," said Mr. Mc Cory to Mr. Powell's back. "He thought I was with the navy." He shook his head as he watched him walk away. "Oh never mind." Jack waved the rest of the smoke away, and looked rather amused. "Sorry about that, Jack," said Mr. Mc Cory. "That's our Mr. Powell. His name's Dylan Powell but most of the crew call him Leatherback." Jack grimaced. "What?" Jack shrugged. Just then a stocky blond man emerged from below deck and took a look at Jack and Mr. Mc Cory.  
  
"Ah, Tom so you've found us a hand at last?" he let his arms hang at ease around his sides. He eagerly looked at Jack.   
  
"This is Mr. Sparrow," said Mr. Mc Cory. "Jack Sparrow."  
  
"Just washed up on the beach today," said Jack with a grin.  
  
"That's hard luck, Jackie," he said earnestly. "Name's Corcoran, Alex Corcoran." The young man shook Jack's hand once very strongly. Jack waited for what he knew was next. "Mostly folk around here call me 'Gordy Cord." Jack stifled a laugh. "What?" Jack shrugged.   
  
"What's this?" came a deep, sonorous voice from behind Jack. Both he and Alex jumped, and Jack slowly turned around to see a tall man standing behind him. His eyes were the most rivetting Jack had known. They were a grey that reminded him of the dreariest fog he had ever seen at sea. He had never seen eyes like that before. The face around them was well-formed and brown from the sun. His hair was dark where it showed from under his old leather hat. The man stared at him over his nose. Jack nearly stumbled as the other man took a step towards him.   
  
"Captain Hawthorne," whispered Jack, tugging his forelock since he had no hat. The man smiled broadly and shifted to stand with a hand on his hip. He somehow grew even taller by relaxing, or maybe it was Jack who was shrinking. The captain pointed a finger at Alex and looked at Jack from under his bark brows.  
  
"Do you not like Mr. Corcoran's name, lad?" Jack didn't seem to notice that Alex was smiling. He looked up at the captain and tried to find the right words to say.  
  
"Well, sir," he said at last. "It just seemed a bit... silly." He felt sure that the captain was going to throw him overboard, or have him stuck by lightning for questioning him on his own ship but the man only calmly stood back and appeared to re-examine the situation.  
  
"You think that 'Gordy Cord' is a silly name?" Jack muttered a brief 'aye, sir.' The captain placed his hand on Jack's shoulder and made him look at Alex. "Here you have our Mr. Corcoran," he said. "His Christian name is Alexander," he stretched the name out and seemed to taste each vowel of it before he'd let it out of his breath. "Alexander was a great king, a commander of men," he continued. Jack looked up into the grey eyes again. The captain stood aside for a moment. "On one of Alexander's campaigns he went to Gordium where the people had a chariot tied by a great knot which their legends foretold could not be undone except by one who was most blessed and destined to do so."   
  
"And Alexander untied this knot?" said Jack spellbound by the captain's tale.   
  
"Not exactly," said the captain eyeing Jack more keenly than before. "Young Alexander took his sword, and he did cut the knot in twain and that is how he fulfilled the prophecy and gained his own destiny by his cunning." Jack frowned.  
  
"But wasn't that cheating?" he said.   
  
"No, lad," said the captain. "See, the prophecy said nothing about untying the knot; known mostly as the 'Gordian knot' but which I prefer to call a cord. They expected the promised hero would do so, and all failed in trying to untie it. When Alexander came along it was his superiority of mind, not strength, which secured for him the honours that came with performing this task." Jack's eyes cleared and he nodded slowly.   
  
"And that's why I named young Mr. Corcoran 'Gordy Cord.' The captain looked over at Mr. Mc Cory, as Alex moved to stand next to Jack.  
  
"Mr. Mc Cory," he said. Mr. Mc Cory took off his hat. "I see you've brought us a lad."  
  
"Begging your pardon, sir," said Mr. Mc Cory. "There is a problem." The captain frowned deeply at this. "The lad there, he just washed ashore this mornin' and he don't know privateer from pirate." The captain breathed deeply and scratched the dark goatee straddling his chin. He looked over at Jack out of the corner of his eye. "What is your name, lad?" he demanded.  
  
"My name is Jack Sparrow, sir," The captain didn't look at him, but out at the sea.   
  
"You may have lodgings onboard as long as you like, Mr. Sparrow," said the captain. He turned to look at him. "We need a good hand, and you'd be welcome to join us but remember this, my boy," he said. "This is not a grand adventure, it is not a romance of the sea. We risk our lives, and get little to show for it but our own knowledge that we serve our country."  
  
"And some booty," said Mr. Powell, who had drifted over from the other side of the ship. "Aye, don't forget our loot, ay?" He puffed on his pipe just behind Jack's ear. The captain noticed the twitch in Jack's nose.  
  
"Mr. Powell, you will put that out," he said plainly and was obeyed. "Welcome to The Golden Bough, Mr. Sparrow." The captain turned to leave, but before he did he motioned to Mr. Mc Cory. "Get Mr. Sparrow some clean clothes and get some food in him. He can share Mr. Corcoran's cabin for now." He nodded as he left, and everyone bowed their head as well. 


	5. The dead men

***Disclaimer: Still don't own PotC. But I still own all the stuff I said I did. Actually, why don't I just say that it's obvious that I own everything that is obviously not directly from Pirates of the Caribbean? This is turning out to be a moderately good first non-comedic story, eh?  
  
Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl: yet more hearty praise! I could let this go to my head ;-) Well, probably not. It's a thankless job, not writing Mary-Sues!  
  
Rae Roberts: You reivewed *just* after I had added chapter 5. That has to confuse the review history thing. This chapter is sort of when we get started in earnest ;-) I hope you enjoy it! ***  
  
Chapter Four  
  
"Here you are lad, " said Tom. "I'll be along in a moment, fetch ye something from the galley." He looked at Jack and Alex before turning away to walk along the dark passageway beyond the door. The cabin was small, of seemingly ancient oak timbers; their grains standing out in deep reliefs and riven with deep trenches. There were two bunks already made up with striped linen, and some finer stuff. Jack ran his hand over the fine material which clashed gaudily with the stripes.  
  
"Oh, that," said Alex. "We take what we can get, Mr. Sparrow- Jack I mean." Jack drew his hand away as through the material singed his fingers. "Aye, it's stolen," continued Alex. "That we got, oh let me see, twas a Spaniard I think." He pointed to the upper bunk. "Ye may sleep there if you please, Jack." He himself sat on the floor while Jack rested against one of the oaken ribs.   
  
Jack had already been provided with a fresh shirt of white linen, rather straight trousers and a faded blue vest. In his hands he now held the bundle that was what was left of his old clothes. While there was a hollow look in his eye yet the new clothes removed all questions of his soundness.   
  
"You've shined up like a penny, Jack," said Alex. "With all that sand on ye it was hard to tell if you were fair or black!" Jack smiled and ran his hand through his hair.  
  
"Aye, I'm black," said Jack. "Dark-eyed too."  
  
"Perhaps the men' ll call you Black Jack then," said Alex. "If you decide to stay on. It's not a bad name for a privateer." Jack rolled his eyes.  
  
"Bloody hell," murmured Jack. "I hope not." Jack looked down thoughtfully at Alex. This young man was a pirate, he said to himself. Inviting him to stay the night onboard a pirate ship, this guileless pup before him. Even through Jack and Alex were the same age, there were years lacking behind the other man's eyes. He thought about how strange this crew was; even though he had only met three crewmen and their captain, he was surprised at the spirit these men had and of the captain most of all.   
  
"Alex," he said at last. "What sort of man is the captain?" The other man stood, and walked over to the lower bunk.  
  
"Captain Hawthorne is a strange man," said Alex haltingly. "God bless 'em!" he smiled and sat down. Jack pulled over a wooden box nearby and took a seat. "Mostly, though, no one gets very close to him; like most captains you'll see. You don't cross him; no, never. Never sure what he'll do exactly, he's like that. But a brilliant man, and not one to be cruel to a cur e'n. He leaves punishments to the quartermaster, Mr. Playfair, as is proper. He himself would rather read below, than carouse goin' ashore. Sometime it seems he's like a hermit in that cabin of his but he's not unaccustomed to setting his hand to the rigging, especially when the heat is on."  
  
"And was he always a privateer?" asked Jack. "I've never heard words so fine."  
  
"Aye," said Alex. "There's that as well. It be hard to say where our cap'n got them fine words; surely from his many books. I can't read myself, and the captain's always waggin' that great head of his at me for shame when he's got that book in his hand. Sometimes I'll see him, and he'll see me while he roams the deck at night. He does so nearly every clear evening, for his own reasons. I'd say he was, if I may be so bold, likely a gentleman's bastard turned out."  
  
The door to the cabin opened, and Tom Mc Cory came into the tiny compartment. "Small in 'ere innit?" The silver plate in his hand was loaded up with a slice of roast beef and some cabbage with a small roll on top, in his other hand he held a bottle of rum. "Here y'are Master Sparrow," said Tom handing the food and drink over to Jack. "A wee bit o' supper. Sorry we ain't got nothing finer." Jack laughed out loud at this.  
  
"Nothin' finer? What?! I've only seen beef prob'ly ten times in my lifetime! What is the usual fare 'round here; venison?!" Alex grinned at this, and Tom backed up trying to make some space.  
  
"Aye, this'll be one of the bonuses of which I spoke. Not all treasure is silver and gold; sometimes there's linen, beef and cabbage." Jack grinned thinly. "Aw, go on, no need to worry; we've already had our fill." Jack promptly tore into the roll, and got down to business on the beef. "Hungry thing, ain't ye?" Jack nodded. "Sure did clean up good too." He straightened.  
  
"It's late now, lads. I'll be retirin' for the night. Jackie, if you need anythin' I'm across the passage; third cabin, aye?"  
  
"Aye, goodnight Tom. And thank you for everything," said Jack.  
  
"T'were nothing, lad. Shame if'n a man don't help an orphaned sailor's lad," he looked soberly at Jack. "Aye, hard luck, mate. Goodnight." Jack watched Tom close the door behind him, and heard his feet as they moved down the passage. After Jack had cleaned his plate, he and Alex lay on their bunks.  
  
"Jack," said Alex. "Do you think you'll be stayin' long?"   
  
"I don't know," said Jack. "I'm terrible tired," he yawned and threw himself deeper into the bunk. In the bunk below Alex nodded to himself, he reached out and snuffed the candle.   
  
"Sleep well, Mr. Sparrow," he said.   
  
"Sleep well, Mr. Corcoran," said Jack as he gratefully closed his eyes.  
  
In the sky the moon had risen to its height over the undulating black wave. Even so, the night was dark for the moon was waning and gave little light. It was silent, and still as the winds gently rocked The Golden Bough in the water of the harbour. A black shape it was, featureless and large, against the shimmer of moonlight in the water. The deck creaked with the weight of footfalls slowly moving along the port side. The man walked slowly, placing his feet with a gracefully light tread. His grey eyes traced the dark lines of his ship against the shimmer below, and the haze above. There was no book in his hand. His eyes were large and filled with an unfathomed sadness, intensely felt. He knit together his dark brows and lifted his head into the breeze. For a moment the wind brushed his hair against his cheek and he only gazed off with his bright eyes and listened. Looking across his ship he abruptly turned and strode to the starboard side and lifted his spyglass to his eye.   
  
"Blast!" he returned the glass, defeated by the dark, to his side and stood still once more. He breathed deeply, and narrowed his eyes. "All hands!" he bellowed so the rigging seemed to shake. "All hands on deck! Clear for action!" he strode back to his cabin as a few sailors on duty scrambled to alert the sleeping crew.  
  
He opened his eyes, and frowned as he remembered where he was. Something was wrong, he could feel it. Below him Alex Corcoran was snoring contentedly in his bunk. He cautiously climbed down the ladder and stood on the deck. His eyes widened. He shot a glance at Alex and glared before rummaging around the room, careful not to make a noise. At last he found it; a cutlass. There was only a small beam of light entering the room from the moon beyond, and he lifted it into this letting the light illuminate the blade. He thanked Tom for the hearty meal he but he cursed him for lying. Taking another disappointed look at Alex Corcoran, he carefully drew back the door and slipped into the dark corridor.  
  
It was pitch black in the passage, and Jack had to move half by feel half by instinct. Along he went feeling the doors as he passed, and breathing hard. The feeling of betrayal was heavy around his heart, and he bit his teeth against his own trustfulness. He had allowed himself to be captured, and dragged into villainy by cutthroats who made no apologies for their crimes. Now, at any moment, he would see them as they really are. And if he wasn't sharp, he'd find his lovely neck slit and that would be the end of Jack Sparrow.   
  
"All hands on deck!" he abruptly spun around as he heard the noise echo down the passage. He could see nothing but he heard the doors opening one by one, and then the yellow haze of lanterns. His heart thrashing in his chest, he turned back and ran, stumbling on through the dark as the doors opened and he heard the orders being called, each melting into the other so he could no longer hear either.   
  
"Watch it, lad!" shouted a voice next to him. Jack slid to a halt, as the large hand caught him from falling. In the darkness he lifted the cutlass and stared at the void around him. "Come this way, above," said the voice. "Ye can make yourself useful." Jack frowned, and lowered the cutlass. He allowed himself to be steered through the winding passageway until he suddenly entered a hallway lit by the same yellow lamps he had seen before. A tall man had been guiding him; he now emerged into the hazy light and pointed into the white of the twilight before continuing down another passage. In the light there was a staircase leading up to the deck where Jack heard that loud voice.  
  
"Bring her around, lads! Double quick, now!"  
  
This was his chance. Jack ran up the stairs and into the crowd of sailors on deck. The faces were strange, and the motion of the crowd disorienting. He didn't know what was happening to him, to the ship. He felt the deck and knew the ship was moving but where? Could he get to the rails in time? He tried again to press his way towards the starboard side.  
  
"Mr. Sparrow!" He turned, and saw the face of Alex Corcoran. "Do you need a pistol, Mr. Sparrow?" Jack smiled back.   
  
"No, I can take ye on with this!" he held up Alex's cutlass. "Thank you very much, by the way!" He turned and saw the group of sailors recede until he could see the water over the rails. He smiled, tucking the cutlass to his side and made a run for it. He reached the side, and smiled as he saw the water below. It would be easy to give himself to the sea. He paused. It was easy; too easy. Turning around he noticed at last that no one was trying to stop him. Tom McCory was visible nearby, he looked up and saw Jack.  
  
"Bloody hell!" he shouted. He walked over to the rigging nearest Jack. "I'm sorry, lad! But we're for battle." He pointed to the horizon. "Spanish ship most likely, wants to clear us out I'd imagine." Jack could see the other ship now, growing larger and terribly real. Tom cursed again. "Rotten scum! Takin' us while in port! Jackie," Jack looked up at him askance. "You can jump ship now, but they might as well raid the town and then where will you be?" Jack suddenly felt shame spread over him.  
  
"No, I'll stay," he said. Tom smiled and pointed to where he was needed. As Tom left Jack looked after him and noticed for the first time that the captain had been watching him. He paused as the captain slowly turned and walked away. Jack's shame rose into his cheeks and seared them. At the same time he couldn't be sure what was going on, what he was doing, who to trust anymore. His hands worked under Jack's gaze but he saw them in retarded time.  
  
"Mr. Sparrow," Jack saw Alex had joined him. The other man held out a pistol to him. "I hope you won't need this," he added as Jack took it. "You know how to use it?" Jack nodded. He looked out at the black water and saw the smoky puffs of the cannons. The water exploded yards beyond the ship.   
  
"They missed us!" said Jack.   
  
"Ranging shot," said someone glumly. "They'll try again." Jack strained to see the captain as he faded in and out of the crowd, like a phantom. The ship was turning, presenting its bow to the other ship.   
  
"We can't escape," said Jack to himself. "The bay is closed off. We'll have to fight!"  
  
"Aye," said Alex. "It's us or them now, Jackie!" Jack looked out as the water exploded inches from the hull.   
  
"Hurry it up, lads!" shouted the captain evenly as he looked out at the nearing ship. "We'll give 'em what for, by God, we will!" The ships neared each other rapidly, sliding close by. He raced alongside the ship and, placing his feet into the tackle, the captain leaped into the rigging and shouted to the winds. "Firing on one of His Majesty's ships in one of his sovereign ports, ay? Fie for shame, ye cowards all! Mangy curs and blighters! Brigands and slavers! Prepare you well for the end is near; your doom is at the door now, me hearties!" He swung in the wind as the captain of the other ship appeared on deck. "You fired on my ship, you bold-daring dog!" he growled.   
  
By way of answer the other captain signalled to his crew. Captain Hawthorne spun around. "Fire!" he shouted. "Fire!" There was a simultaneous shuddering of both ships as they sent and received the iron blasts. Great clouds of smoke and fire illuminated the night. Jack slid along the deck as it heaved from the blast, the hull creaking thunderously. He looked across at the men of the other ship as they fumbled with ropes.  
  
"They're boarding!" someone shouted. Jack looked down and cocked the pistol as he had seen his father do sometimes. He took two hands to do it carefully, then he levelled it to his dark eye and put it back to his side. The ship shuddered again, and Alex was beside him with a brace of pistols and a cutlass at his side. All around him the sailors prepared to meet the enemy.   
  
"Be brave lads!" shouted the captain, drawing his cutlass and pistol. "Gentlemen! For the King!" Around him Jack saw the men lift their weapons.  
  
"For the King!" they shouted together. At that moment the first men swung onto the deck and were met by the armed sailors and they struggled and grappled around in the dark while the air was rent with screams; the scream of steel upon steel, of dying men, and of war cries. Jack found himself in at the rail as a sailor swung over to the deck. He drew his cutlass and lunged at Jack. Jack was pushed back by the weight of the other man as he snarled something Jack didn't understand. He was too close now for his cutlass; it was entwined with the other man's and to draw it back would be death. In one motion Jack levelled the pistol and fired it at the man with both of his eyes opened. Those eyes watched the man slip away and the sword fell from his hand, a smoldering hole in his forehead. Nearly before the man hit the ground, Jack put down the pistol and looked around. The captain. The captain was pinned on the side of the ship with three men lunging at him with their swords. Jack didn't hesitate as he moved through the tangled, screaming mass of men and gunpowder smoke.   
  
"These are pretty games, boys!" said the captain, as he tried to fend off the men with his two cutlasses. His swords flew through the air frenzied as he turned them on the men with his wrists. They slashed them aside, but it was a dangerous dance of death as they moved in and out, pushing the captain again into the railing. Jack pushed his way into their midst and slashed fiercely at one of the men. He turned and leaped at Jack who stepped sideways and went for him again. With one man occupied, the captain smiled and set to the remainder. Jack's sword shrieked as it slid along that of the other man. It seemed as though there would be no respite as he leaped now to the attack and now to escape the fell blows. Jack yelled out into the winds as he narrowed his dark eyes and buried his sword in the man's chest. He fell, and Jack looked once again to his captain with one of the men dead at his feet. Jack grabbed the pistol from the dead man, cocked it, and fired. The captain whirled around as the powder flew past and the man he fought staggered. Those grey eyes captured Jack's for an instant before he turned his gaze on the staggering man, and lifted a sword to his neck.   
  
"Yield!" he commanded. The man swayed, looking at the bloodied hole in his arm. The sword was dropped from his hand, and the captain snatched it away. He threw it in the air, turning its hilt out and without taking his eyes off of the man held it out to Jack. "Mr. Sparrow," he said. Jack took the sword from him. "Find Mr. McCory. You and him take this dog to the brig." Jack eyed his prisoner suspiciously. He saw the defeat in his eyes.  
  
"Aye, captain!" said Jack. The captain smiled and looked out at the enemy ship. "Tom!" shouted Jack as he looked around in the din and smoke. "Mr. McCory!" The man he was looking for heard his shouts from far off and came running. He was astonished to see the young man.   
  
"That you Jackie boy?!" he said smiling, a bloodied sword in his hand.  
  
"Prisoner, " said Jack. "Captain's orders." Mr. McCory smiled even broader, and levelled a pistol at the man.   
  
"You consider yourself lucky, mate," he said. "We're the King's loyal privateers, 'an we don't take life lightly. Don't give us no trouble, mind! Else we won't be so friendly!" The man looked down at the deck.  
  
"I don't think they speak English," said Jack helpfully as he nodded to the man.  
  
"Oh well, I always wanted to say something like that," said Mr. McCory. Jack looked at him quizzically which only made him laugh as he pushed the man below. 


	6. Dark night, darker dreams

***Disclaimer: I don't own PotC, sadly... I have much of the mechanics of this story worked out in my mind. I know the main structure of it, so it should progress with a little more purpose now ;-) Although this chapter is shorter, it is a flash... forward (prolepsis I think is the word...) it has more in it than the other longer chapters in terms of significance to the overall plot. So, enjoy and ponder at your leisure!  
  
Jack Sparrow's Black Pear(l): Thank you- I did read your stories! They are very funny. Actually I did not get to review the one about his sock yet, but I will! I once wrote a poem about socks... Anyway, I don't know what I am doing. Maybe I just wrote a lot of funny stuff and now I have different ideas. I don't know! I hope you like this chapter too.  
  
***  
  
Chapter Five  
  
His fingers played over the hard, black object in his hand; running over the edges thoughtfully as he lay in his bunk. He grinned thinly as he looked at the vacant cabin. He felt the ship race through the waters beneath him; its steady motion always reassuring did not this once reassure. It had seemed something was not altogether the same among the crew following his late night visitation. His first mate had burst in rather awkwardly in the night, asking Jack for answers. That was the moment he felt the difference, a difference but in what he did not really know. But it was there and he found himself truly troubled for the first time in a very long while.   
  
Captain Jack Sparrow leaned onto his elbow, never moving from his bunk. His eyes observed the swaying of the lamp which swayed just as it had done before. The eyes took in all of the controlled chaos of his cabin. What remained of his maps, the ones he himself had made after hours of believing and dreaming the location of the hoard lying half in the mists of a dream lying deep in its own nightmare. Dreaming that the one who would find the treasure of the Ile dela Muerta would be himself. The pirate captain always must provide his men with gold, an unending supply if it were possible. He would deliver what they had never hoped for, a prize too terrible for the getting. A curse on it, they had told him. All of the writings, the murmured warnings of bloody omens wreaking vengeance from the distant past. Here in this land, the pain was fresh and real, but Jack Sparrow had never been a superstitious man.   
  
And perhaps he should be. Knowing what lay in his heart, at that moment, he wanted to believe it for he had his own dread to face. He would have to face it all too soon. From this familiar cabin of his, with the maps lying open under the remnant of last night's rum and buccan it seemed that nothing could, not even a nightmare could, reach him in his home in the embrace of the Pearl. What was this nightmare? Did he dream or were the feelings in his body true and he only fighting back blindly, pushing the idea- the idea away; further and deeper. If he could he would thrust it into the ink-blue waters of the night. The idea was real, was becoming more real as he thought of how to extinguish it, only he knew it would be death again.   
  
Jack snapped the compass closed, and tucked it away as he sat up on his bunk. He gingerly adjusted his coat, and thought of something he hadn't thought of since he was quite a different man; since he was a boy. He knew they would be coming for him soon, and he couldn't stop them. His men would come for him to take his identity away. He would be humiliated, a captain without a ship, is no captain at all. For a moment he sat and pondered in his divided mind which was the best way, when all the ways were dark. He scowled inwardly, not liking the choices ahead. He thought of it again, or thought of him.   
  
The dark glass of his cabin reflected his face at him, and he shied away from it. He didn't want to recognize the fearful, bitter look in that face like that of a man condemned after having been promised eternal freedom. It was the face that was so different from what he was, he would never become the man in the glass; not if it could be helped.   
  
Could it be helped? What had he done when it had been his time? What had Charles done that bitter day, both cold and cruel, when his children; his people, had lain him on the block? Jack had never heard of what happened, only what a sailor brat in the Caribbean deserved to know; that the king was dead and that there were to be no more kings now. How had it been for him, did he beg them? Did he spit in their faces, the rogues that would kill a king? Jack had thought, all those years ago, of what he would have done if he had been there. And now he thought of what he would do now, in this world without kings.  
  
"What would you do now, old friend?" the hat lay on the table, next to the rum. The light in his eyes turned soft as he looked through the dark of his cabin at the dark brown hat. He trembled, and placed a heavy hand to the table. Breathing deliberately for a moment, he leaned into his hand before straightening again. He busied his hands with fastening the belt about his waist.  
  
"Ay? No help now that young Jackie's goin' awa'?" He tensed as he finished slowly sliding his sword into the scabbard beside him. He listened to the shriek of the blade guiltily. "Best they didn't hear that," he mused before placing his hand on the hat. "Of course, that doesn't matter now," he lifted the hat to his head, and arranged himself in his chair. With a sigh he swung one leg onto the table, wrapped his wrist around the glass. And he waited.  
  
He couldn't know about Charles, about Henry but he knew how Jack would meet his day. He couldn't only hope that it would be day, that they would not take him in the night. The night had robbed him of too much already, and he had seen blackness of men in the night. Choices were few. The window received many glances from those eyes to bring the dawn to the sky but still it would not come for him. 


	7. A New Start

The ship was far more quiet once he and Tom emerged from below deck. Looking around, the first thing that Jack noticed was that the other ship was gone. He smiled to himself and sniffed the fresh morning air, still brisk from the night's chill. The sun was only just beginning to transform the sky, and gradually gilding the ship and its crew. Around the ship was open sea, the shore swiftly receding into the distance. Jack didn't look back, he knew now if he hadn't know before that it was at sea that he belonged.   
  
"That was some fun, eh Jack?" said a bounding Alex Corcoran. Jack shook his head in amazement.  
  
"You're somethin', Alex Corcoran!" he muttered. He held out the spent pistol. "So, does this mean I'm a scallywag?" Alex looked away, and his face grew serious. Jack followed his gaze, a wry grin still on his face.   
  
"I wouldn't call a man who saved his captain a scallywag," said the man before them. He walked over to Jack, and held out his hand. "I am Aitken, first mate." He looked blankly down at Jack while he shook his hand. "Good work today, Mr. Sparrow is it?"  
  
"It is, sir," said Jack. "Jack Sparrow." Mr. Aitken tapped his dark hat and turned back to his work. Jack looked over at Alex.  
  
"Aye, that's ol' Toffy Bottom," whispered Alex, trying to hold in his laughter. Jack laughed despite himself, and stared at Alex.  
  
"What did you call him?!" he mouthed.   
  
All of his silliness slipped away, however, when he saw the captain walking up to 'Toffy Bottom'. He looked down; once again he felt out of place and time, as through he were falling back into his own dreams; those which he once had dreamed before his old life had ended. Yet these dreams where not the same, they were happening to him. Thoughts flowed in a dizzying rush through his head as he calmly noted Mr. Aitken nodding his head in Jack's direction and the captain turning those eyes towards him. The treasonous thought floated forcefully to the surface. Jack had courted mutiny against this man, called him a cutthroat, thought him a murderer and kidnapper. He saw himself racing across the deck, smiling to himself about to slip into the darkness leaving the others to fight for their lives, and the captain had seen all and let him do it too. It was a treason of himself, he suddenly realised in that moment the captain looked at him. He had betrayed his own integrity, had flown a cowardly flag at the man now walking towards him gravely.   
  
"Mr. Sparrow?" said the captain. "May I have a word?" Jack walked over to the captain, the entire crew seemed to be watching his every move. The captain glanced around at his men, and then back down at Jack. "In my cabin, if you please Mr. Sparrow." The captain swiftly glided below deck. Jack saw the stunned expression on Alex's face and swayed down after the captain.  
  
The cabin was as Jack had thought it would be, nevertheless he had the impression of being on hallowed ground. He stood to one side as the captain continued past to sit in a large chair. The walls here were much different from those of Mr. Corcoran's cabin; every inch was covered with glassed in bookshelves. There was a chest in one corner, a bunk exactly like that of Alex' s cabin, and a richly carved mahogany desk with charts and instruments neatly placed upon it.   
  
"So, let's be plain, Mr. Sparrow," began the captain. Jack bit the inside of his cheek as the captain paused. "At the beginning, so let us begin. I take it you don't trust me, Mr. Sparrow?"   
  
"No, sir!" said Jack dismayed. "I mean, I do trust you, sir."   
  
"Come now, don't be false," said the captain. "Don't take me for a fool either." The two men looked at each other. Jack looked around the room for the right words.  
  
"I was afraid," he said at last, looking back at the captain. This man was trying to humiliate him, and perhaps that is what he deserved, he couldn't know. The captain rubbed his beard.  
  
"That's good, lad," he said. Jack frowned but the captain didn't explain. "I suppose it's only common to assume that people are what you expect them to be, yet," he paused again. "Mr. Sparrow, I did expect different of you." Jack buried his gaze in the deck while the captain calmly perused him, one of his elegant hands hanging over the chair. He abruptly shifted his pose and Jack looked up again. "It's your decision," he said flatly.   
  
"What is my decision?" Said Jack. The captain smiled thinly, his hands clasped under his chin.  
  
"Well, many things; firstly, wether you wish to stay here with us or wether you would rather be dropped off at the nearest friendly port," he waved his hand at this. "That is up to you, for example." Jack stirred.  
  
"I would like to stay," said Jack unbidden. The utterance surprised Jack even as it escaped his lips, yet he didn't withdraw it. The captain leaned forward slightly, and waited for the retraction, the amendment that didn't come. Jack tried to raise himself up again, and appealed to the captain with his eyes. "I would like to stay," he enunciated.   
  
"Request granted," said the captain easily. He rose from his chair. "What was your given name again, Mr. Sparrow?"   
  
"Jack, sir," Jack smiled uneasily.   
  
"Right, you can stay in Mr. Corcoran's cabin, Mr. Jack Sparrow," said the captain. "There are a few rules," he swung his hand in the air. "Division of loot, etcetera... Mr. Playfair, the quartermaster does all the punishment and supervises the prisoners. Things are not exactly as they are on other vessels, you understand." he paused again. "Yes, it may surprise you that this is a democracy."   
  
"I don't understand," said Jack.  
  
"Under the code," continued the captain. "All major decisions are taken to a simple majority vote amongst the crew. Do you understand now?" The captain tilted his head at Jack.  
  
"Well," said Jack his brows drawing together. "If the crew make decisions then..." he looked up at the smiling captain.  
  
"Why have a captain at all?" he laughed out loud, shocking poor Jack. "Aye," he said. "Why?" Jack said nothing, so the captain continued. "Only major decisions go to the crew, however, in battle this is my ship; I become absolute monarch of this vessel, for the duration only. So, you really needn't fear me, Jack Sparrow."  
  
"I don't," said Jack suddenly. "I didn't fear you. That isn't why..." he couldn't get himself to state his crime. The captain nodded slowly.  
  
"Ah," he said. "Now I understand. We understand each other, Mr. Sparrow." The captain walked across to the large table and took out a long sword. "This will be your cutlass, lad," he held the blade out before Jack and smiled as it flashed. With a flourish he let the blade slide into the scabbard with a shriek and handed the sword to Jack. "I hope you never need it; never truly need this weapon. You may go now, Mr. Sparrow." Turning, he was about to leave when he noticed the captain staring at him strangely.   
  
"I think," said the captain. "We'll have to get you a hat," he stood back, tilting his head once more as though inspecting a painting that was hanging crooked. "Yes. Carry on, Mr. Sparrow, I'll see to it." 


	8. Beginning of the end

**Disclaimer: I don't own PotC- except on DVD *chortle* Ahem. Well, folks, I've so terribly sorry to make you wait for these chapters. November was full of horrendous papers for Lit. Theory and Greek Poetry etc... I got swamped, then I was really sick from Dec. 6th to the 26th! You can catch the icky details at my livejournal ;-) Anyhoo, I thought that there was something wrong with this story... I've come to think the idea is a little improbable- a good challenge but I had... briefly, concidered dropping the whole thing. I won't do that. Rest assured. In fact, I think I'll be taking more risks from now on, since this is my first serious fic. I need to stretch my writing muscles and try to sober up my muse... So, to the individual responces!  
  
Rae Roberts: Well... we all know how blurred the time frame for PotC is. I mean, it should be in the 1600's but the clothes- and the music (Norrington's ceremony)- is definately late 1700's. I was thinking that Jack had some knowledge of the Civil War in England- Charles being the King they beheaded before the theocracy. I'm not too sure when Bonny Charlie was... in the 1600's for sure, a little earlier than the war?  
  
ErinRua: That review was so amazing that it may have saved the life of this fic, in fact. Yes, I thought that it was getting rather bogged down, but I'm newly dedicated to doing better (in my mind) in the upcoming chapters, as I get better at this- hopefully ;-) I can always go back and revise! Thanks for the support. *hugs*  
  
One last thing- I wrote chapters 8-10 in one go (more or less). Can you tell? Hm. There's going to be a quiz on this later ;-)  
  
**  
  
Jack found his way back to what was now his cabin. It was a strange feeling, but less than he had imagined. He threw back the door and saw Alex and Tom had been waiting for him. They sat on the lower bunk and looked serious and grim. Jack waved to them.  
  
"I'm still here, captain didn't throw me to the sharks," Tom looked at him sidelong. "We had a little talk. I'm stayin'." The two men sighed and walked over to Jack.   
  
"Welcome to the crew Mr. Sparrow," said Alex.   
  
"Jackie, well done. Charmed the ol' man on 'is first day!" Tom patted his shoulder. "Aye, I knew there were a privateer in there somewhere. A natural y'are." Jack climbed up into the higher bunk and leaned against his elbow. "Gettin' bold as brass as well!"  
  
"What'ye mean?" said Jack, rolling the scabbard of his new sword in his hand.  
  
"Look at 'im!" said Tom to Alex. "Taken in to see the captain an' 'e's all 'we had a little talk' says 'e!" The two looked with disbelief at Jack. "That is passing strange. What are you that talkin' wi' a captain's no new thing? I'd wet myself talkin' te the ol' man in his own cabin, aye!" They all laughed, but none more than Jack.  
  
"Perhaps I remind him of someone from them books of his," said Jack with a smirk. "I have a lot of charisma, so I do, Mr. McCory." Tom laughed. "I do!" said Jack with mock indignation.   
  
"Aye, yer somethin' Mr. Sparrow," said Alex with a shrug. "Not sure what exactly, not yet anyways!" He rolled his eyes. "Heaven help us! We've got Mr. Sparrow onboard! What' ll become of us now?" There was a knock at the door. "Come in," said Alex. A swarthy young man stuck his head in the door.  
  
"Mr. Sparrow?" Jack nodded. The man stuck a thumb into the passage. "To do below. Heard the cap'n gave you the sign. 'S all in yer honour." Jack's eyes widened, he grinned as he swung himself down from bunk. He tried not to give him a funny look but it was hard not to think of how just a few hours ago he had tired to jump ship, and now he was invited to a bit of diversion with a crew of privateers, himself one. He nodded to the young man. "Aye, Alex, Tom," he nodded at each before turning back.  
  
"Don't," said Tom warily. "Don't let it get to yer head, boy." Alex smirked. "Aye, lads below just want to nick into the rum s'all," he gave Jack a cavalier look. He followed Jack and Tom out of the cabin. 


	9. More of the same

Chapter Eight

  
  


"Aw, dammit, boy!" The low voice said to the sound of breathing in fits and puffs and the clattering of boot leather on wood punctuated the quiet. Tom looked up at Alex disapprovingly, but it was all Alex could do to shake his head. Tom returned to his task. "Here," he whispered hurriedly. "Take his feet, they're floppin' about all over. Someone's bound to hear." Alex sighed and reluctantly lifted Jack's feet off of the floor.

  
  


"It's a good thing he's too far gone to protest," said Alex half-heartedly as they bundled Jack down the corridor. "My God, I've never seen anything like it in all my days!" Tom shook his head.

  
  


"Quiet," he warned. "Don't need Toffy hearing us, or even the man himself." Alex chewed his cheek for a few moments as he frowningly took in the less than admirable state of Mr. Sparrow. He looked up to meet Tom's gaze as they reached the threshold to their cabin. 

  
  


"Won't make any difference," he murmured as they laid Jack on the bunk, and propped him back up into it after he nearly rolled out. "It won't change anything, he's sure to tell."

  
  


"Don't even think it," said Tom. "Last thing I need is to have to wrestle that weasel Powell. He's a thorny blighter. Don't call him down on us now, whatever you do." 

  
  


"I have a bad feeling," said Alex. "I think it might be Powell that arranged this whole business."

  
  


"What do you mean? The party?" Alex leaned against the bulkhead as Jack began to snore loudly.

  
  


"Mmm..." he said. "Can't say, but if there's trouble you're sure to find Mr. P's in it, right in the thick." They both nodded glumly.

  
  


"Well," said Tom after a moment. "If Mr. Powell so chooses, we shall either hear from him shortly, or we shall hear from the Captain." he paused. "Personally I'd rather hear from the Captain." Alex winced. 

  
  


"Aye," he said reluctantly. 

  
  


"I mean, we can't hide Mr. Sparrow in here. And I wouldn't want Mr. Powell lording it over young Jack." Alex gave Tom a sideways glance. 

  
  


"I don't think I like the drift of this," said Alex. "You mean we tell the Captain?" 

  
  


"Aye," said Tom. 

  
  


"Oh, that's mad," said Alex. "No."

  
  


"Look, lad," said Tom. "I like Jack as much as you do, but a few lashes is nothing compared to Mr. Powell's domination. You should know that. He'd be miserable. Mr. Powell would never let him off for this little," he looked at Jack slowly sliding out of the bunk again. "This little lapse in judgement. Now, with the Captain what might he do?"

  
  


"You know, he'd hand him over to Mr. Playfair and he'd give him the lash," Alex frowned again. "Don't like the sound of this, not at all."

  
  


"I know about the lash, lad. I mean what happens after the lash?" 

  
  


"What after?" asked Alex. "Well, the Captain probably would be none too pleased but Powell would be proud as a peacock."

  
  


"Aye, but that's not the important thing. Both of those things would soon pass. The Captain would forgive Jack eventually, for he's not a hard man."

  
  


"And Mr. Powell, he'd turn sour," said Alex. "I know that."

  
  


"So, do you see now?" said Tom soberly. Alex looked down at Jack once more. "It's for the best, believe me." Alex moved with Tom to lift Jack back onto the middle of the bunk and tuck him in as firmly as they dared. "He looks a little better," said Tom as Alex cautiously tried to smooth Jack's hair.

  
  


"His hair's gone all wiry," complained Alex as he tried to press down the same black lock three times. "Maybe we could wrap it-" The two men heard the heavy oak door shudder slightly as someone leaned into it. Before they could react the door opened in a smooth gliding motion and Mr. Powell walked in, pipe in hand. Alex and Tom stood over Jack. Alex gave one last tug to Jack's hair in protest to the intrusion. 

  
  


"What's wrong with the whelp?" said Mr. Powell. 

  
  


"Good evening, Mr. Powell," said Alex sweetly. "Mr. Sparrow's just having a little rest." Tom's mouth twisted into a sardonic grin as Mr. Powell briskly shook his head.

  
  


"He's a drunken dastard," said Mr. Powell. "You could see, a flaw in the kennel-rake's character," Alex's eyes widened in astonishment. "You could see, I say. It's a flaw."

  
  


"Not a subtle man, are you?" said Tom. 

  
  


"Jack's not a- a rake!" said Alex.

  
  


"No," said Mr. Powell stepping farther into the cabin. "I said he's a kennel-rake," he snarled as he replaced the pipe to his mouth. 

  
  


"That's quite enough, Mr. Powell," said Tom dangerously. "There's no need to be libellous. Jack's a young lad." Mr. Powell made a motion as though he would speak but Tom cut across him. "Besides," he said. "The Captain will deal with him, aye?" There was a sharp look in Mr. Powell's eye and he walked out of the cabin. Tom made a move for the door, and Alex just moved aside in time for him to pass. 

  
  


"You're not-" said Alex.

  
  


"No," said Tom as he turned into the corridor and strode down into the darkness. It didn't take him long to reach the Captain's cabin door. He sighed with relief, with no sign of Mr. Powell. He gathered himself before he knocked on the door. He waited a moment, and mused on how he actually had hoped that it wouldn't come to this, despite what he had said. Still, he wanted to give Jack his fair chance. Tom knocked on the Captain's door again. After another moment he knocked again, and looked around. He sighed. Turning away he found a tall, blond haired sailor who had just finished cleaning the deck.

  
  


"Jehan," he said. "Do you know where the Captain is?" The Frenchman nodded, and pointed to the fore. 

  
  


"I saw him take a walk with Puggy," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Trouble?" Tom tried to steady himself, clearly agitated. "Oui," said Jehan as he gathered his supplies. "Puggy, he's on the walk of the war?" 

  
  


"It's Mr. Sparrow," said Tom. "He's drunk."

  
  


"Jacques Sparrou, he is drunk?" said Jehan with mild interest. "Aw, dat's bad. I tell you, it is too early for dat." Tom waited anxiously as Jehan finished tidying the scrub brushes and buckets. Then Jehan turned walking below deck. "Come," he said. "I show you."

  
  


The two sailors walked below deck, but it became clear from the knowing nods that they met that Mr. Powell had already brought the Captain to Alex' cabin. Jehan merely nodded philosophically and followed Tom back to the cabin where they found only the Captain, Alex and Jack. Alex stared anxiously past the Captain at the two men in the corridor.

  
  


"Capitaine," said Jehan evenly. "I hear dere is a problem?" Captain Hawthorne turned his head aside, but didn't answer. On the cot Jack groaned, and slid sideways once more. There was no noise in the cabin except for the long, slow intake of breath through the nose of the Captain, followed by the annoyed hum as it was exhaled again. Finally he seemed to break out of his thoughts and turned to all.

  
  


"And so, how long has Mr. Sparrow been like this?" he said hurriedly.

  
  


"Probably..." Alex stammered.

  
  


"All of three hours, I'd say," said Tom. 

  
  


"Three hours?" said the Captain. "There had been a drunken sailor on my ship for three hours, Mr. Mc Cory? Is this about right, Mr. Corcoran?" Alex nodded grimly. Jehan whistled in the hallway, and the Captain wagged his head to silence him. "Three hours, then." He lowered his voice. "You two know better. You two know what a danger this sort of thing is. I won't have it." He looked hard at Jack. "No, he'll have to be passed over to Mr. Playfair." Alex gave a pained look which the Captain caught. His face softened as he sighed. He turned to the three men. "Gallants, " he said. "You see here the newest hand of our enterprise. Here is the lad who this morning saved his Captain's life. Here is the lad who has taken up the King's business with his enemies. Here he lies," he waved. "Here he is, drunk as a skunk, gallants. And I won't have it," he added pleadingly. "He will go to Mr. Playfair, he will go on his own once he has sobered. You will tell him that I have said that this must not happen again." 


	10. MrPlayfair

A/N Huh. I'm still writing this thing. Go figure! This time the pause was due to lack of inspiration. But after reading a lot of domestic novels I've come to realise how much more freedom I have in writing about a shipload of 17th century pirates! So, let the games begin. I'm putting most of my energies into finishing my fics this summer so I can start on some new projects. I doubt that I'll finish this one on time, but if there are more delays that would be why.  
  
Jack Sparrow shook his head, his dark hair pricking up in wiry tuffs about his head. his hands clung to the bunk beneath him. He let out a long sigh. His friends made similar sounds from the other side of the small cabin. Tom McCory was gazing out into the corridor, while Alex Corcoran stared back at Jack.  
  
"You ever had a beating afore, Jackie?" said Alex. "Why are you smiling like that?"  
  
"Because you asked me about beatings," Jack shrugged painfully. Evidently he was sore.  
  
"Do ye not hear what we say? You're to report to Mr.Playfair."  
  
"Aye, I understand," Jack noisly prepared himself to rise, then relapsed with a huff. McCory moved to Alex's side and looked over his crossed arms at the figure on the bed.  
  
"You still drunk?"  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"Are you still drunk?" demanded the man.  
  
"No," said Jack. "Just... tired." McCory thought for a moment, then purposefully extended his arm to Jack.   
  
"Take it," he said quietly. "Up ye get." Within a moment Jack was on his feet although he carried the weight of tiredness in his face and in his body. McCory looked him over and with his heavy hand tested the condition of his friend with a strong pat. Jack stood still, then wavered slightly. McCory sighed again.  
  
"It won't do," he murmured. "But there's nothing to be done now. Mr.Powell's in it, he's called up Mr.Playfair last night and now with the Captain and likely the whole crew with a nose to this business it were best to have done. Still, you should be strengthened for the blows."  
  
"I don't see how that can be managed," said Jack bleakly. "I'm just tired, that's all. And there's no way to be less tired." His friends hemed in response. "Tom, lead me to Mr.Playfair's cabin, if you please."   
  
McCory and Alex both left the cabin, and walked in silence through the corridor with Jack following behind, until they reached a cabin quite in the midst of the crew's quarters. As they stood lined up abreast outside the door, a figure issued from inside. Grey eyes darted out at the three men, not without a certain measure of approbation. A markedly proud bearing glazed the features of the captain tonight. He had been waiting for them. Stepping aside, another figure advanced. A strong-looking man, in the tradition of natural brawn. There was muscle in his frame but not sinew. This was no bull of a man. There was a roundess about his appearance which softened the initial impression of his stocky strength. The captain nodded to the three, but looked in particular on Jack's head which was bowed somewhat.  
  
"This is Mr.Playfair, the ship's quartermaster," said Captain Hawthorne. The man stood impassive at his side, as the three before him were unmoving. The captain lifted his hand and the man retreated into the cabin, which was well lit with lanterns. Jack followed instantly. he cringed involuntarily as he passed under the sight of the taller man. His friends waited outside. To these the captain nodded his head, and closed the door.  
  
Within Mr.Playfair stood waiting, the wooden cane in his hand. He had already placed a table well away from the corners of the cabin to allow enough room. The captain walked to the far side, opposite from Jack. After a swift glance to the door he addressed the young sailor.  
  
"Mr.Sparrow," he said. "You will please yourself to submit to the discipline of this man?" Jack looked doubtfuly at the floor and then up at Mr.Playfair.  
  
"I submit to the rules of this ship, which I pledged to follow, and have now broken."  
  
"Did you break them unwittingly?" said the Captain hastily. Jack suddenly lifted his head, daring for once to look at the man full in his face. The captain and he bore the same expression of confusion as the one tried to read the other.  
  
"Unwittingly, sir?" said Jack. "No, that were not possible." The captain nodded.  
  
"Quite right," he said. "So," he continued. "you would not have me believe that, for example, Mr.Powell has something to do with the business?"  
  
Jack shook his head. The Captain frowned and touched the end of the table with his hand.  
  
"Hands here, if you please," he said. "Feet where they are." Jack bent over in order to place his hands on the dark varnished wood. The captain stood to the side and motioned to Mr.Playfair. "Do your duty, Mr.Playfair," he said.  
  
Outside of the cabin Mr.McCory and Alex were now standing against the bulkheads on the opposide side of the corridor.   
  
"Should be any minute now," said Alex dismally. "I don't think Jackie's ever had a beating before." he cut his speech short at the sight of figures emerging from the darkness of the corridor. He recognised several crewmen, he knew their names but had never spoken to them for any significant length of time. They were the backbone of the crew. Among them stood the unwelcomed sight of Mr.Powell. Alex and McCory bristled visibly.  
  
"Well, it's not before time," said Mr.Powell sternly. "I could see-"  
  
"Yes, yes," said McCory dismissively. "We've heard it all before. Why don't you harp on something else?"  
  
"Harp? Not I, not I certainly. I'm doing my duty to the captain, unlike some abord."  
  
"What?" said McCory.   
  
"Well, that Jack-ass for one," said Powell removing his pipe and laughing languidly.  
  
"Don't laugh at your own jokes," said Alex abruptly. Mr.Powell smiled at him.  
  
"You've a short memory, don't ye lad?" he sneered.  
  
"And you've not got long here," said McCory hestitantly. "Keep it down, the captain's by and we don't want no trouble." The crewmen assembled began to look to eachother while Mr.Powell remained smiling at Alex.  
  
"Aye, and how many times did I send ye to Mr.Playfair, Great Alexander? What a runt you always were, and now a lackey to this dog," he motioned to the closed door. The men in the corridor became silent for an instant, and as the voices died the snap of a cane was heard. Alex's hand shot out and scrabbled at Mr.Powell's face. The pipe was knocked from his mouth, the tobacco falling through the dark in burning dust like a meteor shower on the skin of Mr.Powell. With a clobbering fist he felled the young man. McCory was between the two men in an instant. Everything would have ended there, but Mr.Powell reached back and connected his fist with McCory's face. The taller man reeled back heavily, but managed to keep his feet. He swung himself upright, a look of shocked outrage on his face turning into fury. From the boards, Alex attempted to rise but the fight had gone out of him. The crewmen had scattered at the first blow, leaving Powell and McCory to go at it. Neither man noticed the door of the cabin snapping open explosively, and the two men issuing forth.  
  
"What the Hell is going on?" shouted Mr.Playfair, still holding his cane aloft. Mr.Powell's eyes gleamed as he smashed his paw into McCory's face again, leaving it redded.   
  
"Stop this at once!" the voice of the captain boomed through the confined space, but it had no effect. He stepped forward. "Mr.Powell!" The man began to laugh as he hastened his pummelling. McCory held up his battered hands trying in vain to protect his head; he would no longer strike.  
  
"Come on!" shouted Mr.Powell.   
  
"The man is mad," murmurred the captain to Mr.Playfair.   
  
"Captain!" he looked down. Alex Cocoran was still crouched on the boards, a black bruise blased on his cheek. His eyes were glistening, even in the dimness of the corridor.  
  
"Mr.Powell!" shouted the captain again. And again there was no change. In one motion he grabbed the cane from Mr.Playfair and stepped between the two men. McCory slouched to the boards behind him. Powell lunged for him, knocking the captain against the bulkhead. There was a crack as the cane flew through the air and landed on Mr.Powell's hand.  
  
"Murderous dog!" he shouted.  
  
"You will keep your peace, Mr.Powell!" shouted the captain, brandishing the cane. "And you will stand or, by Heaven, you'll pay for it here and now!" Once more the cane fell on the shoulder of Mr.Powell. He yealped and stood aside, panting at the bulkhead.   
  
The captain whirled on Jack, a warning in his face changing immediately as he saw no sign of open mutiny or new violence in the young man's face. He had turned his dark eyes to McCory and Corcoran, both crouched on the boards. He looked up at the captain. Captain Hawthorne sneered and handed the cane roughly to Mr.Playfair. Then he grabbed Mr.Powell up to the elbow and hauled him into the cabin.   
  
"Mr.Playfair!" he summoned. The man followed. "Take care of him." He closed the door, leaving the quarter master to his work. In the stillness of the corridor, the captain sighed looking at the lantern swinging with the motion of the sea. He muttered something inaudible under his breath. Then he staggered towards Mr.McCory; Leaning down towards him.  
  
"A moment," he said to him. He then turned from him and knelt next to Corcoran. "Alex, lad," he said. "Can you rise?"  
  
"I can rise sir," said Alex showing no sign of doing so. The captain turned his gaze on Jack.  
  
"You will help him to his cabin, wait for me there," a twich pulled on the corner of his mouth. A grim smile was about to form itself there. He rose and swung an arm under the shoulder of McCory. He gently hauled the man to his feet and slowly guided his faltering steps down the corridor. 


End file.
